


Burden of Truth

by scribblemoose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers throughout S1 and S2. Takes place shortly after 2.13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burden of Truth

About a month after Merlin became the last Dragonlord, the nightmares began.

At first they were unintelligible: he would wake sweating, heart fluttering like a scared mouse; but with only a vague sense of dread, no memory of a dream. Then gradually, as the nights wore on, things began to stay with him. He was killing a rat in Arthur's chambers, and at the last minute it begged for mercy, in a perfect human voice. He was on a hunt and he pushed Arthur out of the way so he could be the one to slit the stag's throat.

He was in the lake, water lapping at his waist, holding Freya down as he watched the bubbles float from her mouth, the life fade from her eyes.

Merlin woke from the last screaming so loudly that not only did Gaius rush to his room, he actually brought a guard with him, certain that Merlin was being subjected to some terrible attack. Merlin found himself barely awake, drenched in sweat and staring wildly at them both, fighting to keep his magic under control.

"Are you alright?" Gaius asked, shooing the guard back to his post with a hissed whisper and a wave of his hand.

"Fine, I-" Merlin swallowed hard, trying very hard not to throw up.

"I'll get you something," Gaius said, and hurried back to his workroom.

Merlin struggled to slow his breath and still the panic, to draw the magic back into himself. It was only a dream. He didn't lose Freya that way. Damn, the truth was raw and painful enough, but at least it was better than that.

"Here you are," said Gaius, softly. He put a cup in Merlin's hand, and folded Merlin's fingers around it.

"Thanks," Merlin said.

"Drink it slowly. It'll help you calm down."

Merlin took a grateful sip. It tasted foul, with a vague aftertaste of walnuts. A thought occurred to him. "Is this what you used to give Morgana?"

"Goodness me, no. This is just a draught to relax you a little. Morgana's condition required something much stronger. Especially in the last few months."

Merlin wondered how much worse nightmares could get.

Then again, at least his dreams didn't come true. He was pretty sure most of them had already happened, one way or another. They just seemed intent on torturing him.

"I'm worried about you, Merlin." Gaius sat on the edge of Merlin's narrow bed. "I know things have been very hard for you lately."

"I tried to kill Morgana," Merlin whispered.

"You had no choice. It was for Camelot. For Arthur."

"And then... my father. The dragon. And other things, all the other things, the _secrets_. How do you do it, Gaius? How do you keep it all locked away and hidden and not go mad?"

Gaius recoiled, eyebrow arched in surprise, almost as if Merlin had slapped him.

"Sorry," Merlin said, and took another swallow of the potion. The taste wasn't so bad when you got used to it, and he could feel his limbs loosening, his shoulders lowering, until his panic shrank and settled into the now-familiar ball of tension in his guts.

"Don't be sorry, Merlin. It's a big burden for young shoulders."

Merlin managed a wry grin. "You mean it gets easier as you get older?"

Gaius chuckled. "Not exactly. But you get used to it, perhaps."

Merlin wasn't at all sure he _wanted_ to get used to this. The lies were burning him up inside, changing him. He thought of Morgana and how terrified she'd looked when she first realised she had magic. He thought of Morgana and how horrified she'd looked when she'd realised he had poisoned her. He thought of Arthur, looking at him with trust and respect and asking him if he thought Morgana was alright, wherever she was, asking him whom he supposed had released the dragon, asking him how they could make sure magic never touched Camelot again.

"Don't you ever get sick of it, though?" Merlin said. "Don't you ever just think, 'oh, to Hell with this, I'm going to get it all out there, and damn the consequences?'"

"The older you get, the more you truly understand the nature of those consequences, Merlin. You see the bigger picture. We keep secrets for very good reasons: to protect people and keep them safe. We don't do it for fun."

"We do it to protect ourselves."

"Sometimes, if we have to. Think of it this way: if you hadn't been around, how many people would have died these past two years?"

"And how many have died _because_ I have been around?"

Gaius patted Merlin's hand. "But there's Arthur, Merlin. Remember how many times you've saved-"

"Is his life worth more than Morgana's? Than one of the children the dragon killed? Is his life worth more than everyone else's?"

"It's not as simple as that. There's your destiny to think about. You're special."

"Am I? I don't feel too special. I feel like a traitor."

"Oh, Merlin, my poor boy." Gaius took the empty cup from Merlin's hand and set it on the table, then pulled him into a hug. "You've been through so much. I'm so sorry. It's a lot for you to bear."

Merlin let his eyes close.

Gaius waited until Merlin was still and breathing softly, then lay his sleeping body gently back down on his bed. He drew the covers over him, dropped a tender kiss to his temple and then left him to rest, closing the door quietly behind him as he left the room.

Gaius spent a long time that night staring out at the stars. Thinking, remembering, sifting through a lifetime of lies and betrayals and secrets. Maybe there was a better way, even for him, even back then. But if there had been, Gaius couldn't imagine it.

Perhaps Merlin could find one. Gaius could only hope so.

*

The nightmares shifted and lessened thanks to Gaius's medicine. But they were still there. They settled into a pattern that repeated, night after night. Each time Merlin would hide something in Arthur's chambers: a precious charm or jewel or, once, a poem inked on parchment. And Arthur would find it, whatever it was, however Merlin tried to stop him, and know Merlin had put it there. He would accuse Merlin of stealing and cheating and sometimes he hit him, usually he yelled at him but the thing that actually hurt, the thing that woke Merlin like a thousand banshees screaming at him, like a blow to the chest or a bucket of icy water over his head, was the bitter disappointment and betrayal in Arthur's eyes.

The eighth time he had this dream, Merlin was out of bed before his eyes were really open. He struggled into his clothes and wrenched open his door and ran: down the steps, across Gaius's workroom, out of the door, down corridor after corridor until he reached Arthur's room. Not sure any more even whether he was awake or still in a nightmare, Merlin flung open the door and ran to Arthur's bed and yelled at the dim shape huddled there, "I'm a warlock! I'm magic! I'm the best fucking sorceror that ever lived and I'm _sorry_!"

There was a long, still moment of quiet as Merlin's words echoed through the room and the huddled blankets on the bed failed to move, and then Arthur's voice came from behind him.

"Merlin, don't you _ever_ knock?"

Merlin spun around. Arthur was leaning against the wall in the window alcove, arms folded across his chest.

"Did you hear me?"

"I most certainly did," said Arthur. "Hard not to, all the racket you were making."

"What?"

"Merlin, close the door."

Without thinking, Merlin obeyed him. It only occurred to him at the last minute that perhaps Arthur planned on killing him and didn't want to disturb any of the castle's other occupants. Even so, Merlin clicked the door shut and turned, leaning his back against it, still breathing hard. "You're awake," Merlin said.

"Yes. Couldn't sleep. So. The best sorceror that ever lived, Merlin? Really?"

"If I said I was sleepwalking and don't remember a thing, would you believe me?"

"I could, if you like. I've had a lot of practice at believing your excuses."

Which, Merlin decided, amounted to 'no'. "I'll leave Camelot in the morning."

"What on earth for?"

Merlin hesitated. Arthur didn't look at all like he had when he'd uncovered Merlin's secrets in his dreams. No disappointment, no betrayal. He looked... well, like he always looked. Honourable, honest and painfully handsome, with just enough condescension lurking at the corners that Merlin didn't get carried away and declare his undying love or anything.

Although, Merlin was perfectly aware that he did declare his love every time he saved the stubborn bastard's life. Because for all he might try and argue with Gaius that Arthur's life may be of no greater value than anyone else's, to Merlin Arthur's life was worth more than just about anything in the whole stupid world except his mother, including Merlin's own breath. And if that wasn't love... well.

Arthur was looking at him, head on one side, wearing his 'I'm waiting, Merlin' expression.

"In case you haven't noticed," Merlin said, "magic is just a little bit frowned upon around these parts."

Arthur sighed. "Is that why you burst in here with the big confession? Do you want me to send you away?"

"I..."

Merlin sat down on the edge of Arthur's bed, confused. He'd imagined a thousand times what might happen if Arthur found out, and this really didn't fit his expectations at all.

"You're free to do as you please, Merlin. You should know that by now. If you want to leave, just leave. You don't have to make things up."

"Wait. Are you saying... what?"

Arthur sighed deeply. He left his station by the window and came to sit next to Merlin instead. He was wearing his sleeping trousers and nightshirt, his feet bare, toes spread out on the cold stone floor. "I knew there was something wrong, but you certainly pick your moments."

"I'm sorry. I've been having these dreams and I wasn't thinking straight."

Arthur clasped him firmly on the shoulder. "It's alright, Merlin. You've been through a lot, I know it's been difficult for you. It's difficult for everyone."

The anxiety gnawing at Merlin's innards wasn't going away; in fact it was worse than ever. At one time he'd have done anything for Arthur's friendship. Now Arthur was offering it to him on a plate with all this love and sincerity and Merlin couldn't even look at him.

He loved Arthur. It was stupid and pointless and massively inconvenient, but he couldn't hide from it. There it was. He loved him, however much he longed for his other love, the one he'd had to let go, where things were honest and simple and he could be himself. It had given him a huge sense of power and possibility, to be that honest.

If he could only be that honest with Arthur, if Arthur could take it - how strong could _they_ be together?

But if he couldn't....

... if he couldn't, what did that make him?

"Merlin?" Arthur said.

Merlin took a deep breath and said, "Look at the fire."

There wasn't much left burning in the hearth, just a few glowing remains of the logs Merlin had set there earlier, a wisp of smoke climbing the chimney. Merlin held out a shaking hand, whispered magic under his breath and stretched his fingers ~so~. The scorched wood came to life as bright, new flame, red-hot, red-shaped, the Pendragon dragon made of fire, bright in Arthur's fireplace.

Merlin held it there for a moment, then let it fade. The room felt suddenly cold.

"Oh," said Arthur.

Merlin snuck a sidelong look at him. He looked surprised, shocked even. But not like he was intending to kill anyone.

"So, you," said Arthur.

"Yes," said Merlin, softly.

"You _really_...?"

Merlin nodded.

"Oh."

There was a long pause. Eventually it was Merlin who shrugged and said, "seeing as you're going to have to have me executed anyway, I may as well tell you I have feelings for you. Quite a lot of feelings, as a matter of fact. And some of them are, well, probably inappropriate."

"Well, obviously I knew that part," said Arthur, wrinkling his nose.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Really? You knew?"

"Lancelot may have mentioned something."

"Oh." Merlin remembered being very drunk that one time, and Lancelot asking a lot of questions. "Did he say anything about the other thing?"

"About you being a sorceror? No. Why, does he know that too?" There was a flicker of annoyance in Arthur's voice, but Merlin wasn't about to give up on the truth now; he was on a roll.

"He sort of found out."

"Right. Is there anyone but me who _doesn't_ know?"

"No. I mean, no! It's just you, and Lancelot."

"Guinevere? Morgana?"

"No, of course not. No."

"Gaius?"

Merlin swallowed hard. This was the part he'd dreaded most. He'd caused Gaius enough trouble. "Please, Arthur, leave Gaius out of this. He's only ever tried to protect me. He's the one who's helped me control my magic, honestly, he just wanted to keep me safe."

"Right."

"I didn't want to lie to you, Arthur. I hated it."

"And yet, you _did_ lie to me."

Merlin nodded miserably.

"Why?" said Arthur. "Do you really think I'm going to, what, turn you in to my father? Kill you myself?"

You could _try_, Merlin thought, but he bit his lip to stop himself from saying it out loud. "At first I did. Then as time went on and things got more complicated... I never wanted you to have to choose between me and your father."

"So, why now? Is my life just too blessedly uncomplicated at the moment? Or did you think because we fought a dragon together I might be more lenient?"

"No." Merlin's shoulders slumped; his head drooped. In a small voice he said, "It's just that I can't lie to you any more. It's too much. Whatever happens is better than living another day like this. Do what you want. I don't care."

There was a long pause. Arthur breathed softly; Merlin could see his hands out of the corner of his eye, fingers meshed together, Arthur's thumb caressing the ring that habitually circled his index finger.

Arthur said, "You're telling me I should do what I _want_ to do."

Merlin nodded, too busy fighting tears to say anything. He was scared; not that Arthur might hurt him, but for what he'd lost. Arthur's trust and whatever stupid, twisted kind of friendship they'd forged together.

"Alright," said Arthur, decisively.

Arthur moved and Merlin flinched, ready to run, but he didn't have time. In a split second he was snatched into Arthur's arms and Arthur was kissing him. _Kissing him_. With attitude and heat and tongue and it was so sudden, so completely unexpected that Merlin forgot to kiss back at first.

He unfroze just in time, when Arthur was starting to pull back, hesitating at Merlin's unresponsiveness. Merlin threaded the fingers of one hand in Arthur's hair and cupped his skull and held him still and kissed him back very enthusiastically.

"You're not going to kill me?" Merlin said a few moments later, when they were both breathless and trembling and Arthur was making short work stripping off Merlin's belt.

"No," said Arthur. "I don't think so."

"It's yours," Merlin said, nibbling and licking at Arthur's ear. "My magic. It's all yours. I'm yours. Oh. I'm."

"Mine," Arthur finished for him, and his hands were on Merlin's bare skin. Warm and big and surprisingly gentle. "You're mine."

"Yes," whispered Merlin, and everything fell into place.

"We're going to have a long talk about this. Afterwards."

"Afterwards?" Merlin looked at him, heart racing.

"Yes, God help me, Merlin, afterwards," said Arthur, and kissed him again.

*

The last time Merlin had done this, the first time, the only time, was with Freya. He remembered it vividly: how soft she was, how warm, how she wrapped herself around him and gave herself to him and how incredible it felt. But Arthur was so different. There was nothing tentative about the way he touched Merlin, nothing delicate or frightened. (However much she'd reassured him it was okay, Merlin had felt Freya's fear so strongly, even as he laid it to rest.) It was good that this was different. Freya lived in a very quiet, treasured place inside Merlin, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Some secrets he really wanted to keep.

But the freedom of opening himself up to this new kind of love: of welcoming Arthur's tongue and fingers and skin and warmth; of wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck and climbing naked into his lap; of writhing against him, hips rolling, Arthur's mouth on his, Arthur's hand on him and his hand on Arthur's, arching and pulling and stroking in the same perfect rhythm...

"I'm glad you told me, Merlin," Arthur gasped into Merlin's ear, everything about him tight and breathless. Merlin wondered which Arthur meant, love or magic, but perhaps it didn't matter.

Perhaps it was all the same, after all.

*

For the rest of that night and long into the morning after, Merlin slept in Arthur's big bed, held warm by soft sheets, thick blankets and Arthur's arm around his waist.

He dreamed of a lake, and a unicorn, and of delight on Arthur's face as Merlin made lights like fireworks fill the sky.

He dreamed of a dragon as black as night, soaring over white-tipped mountains.

Regret and sadness wouldn't be quick to leave Merlin behind. But that day, for the first time in a long, long while, Merlin woke without fear.

_fin_


End file.
